


In Sickness and in Health

by runningondreams



Category: Avengers Assemble (Cartoon)
Genre: Domestic Fluff, Illness, M/M, Mild Hurt/Comfort
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-02
Updated: 2019-01-02
Packaged: 2019-10-01 20:49:01
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,031
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17251160
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/runningondreams/pseuds/runningondreams
Summary: If Steve has to physically sit on Tony to make him take a rest, he will. He just hopes it doesn’t come to that.





	In Sickness and in Health

**Author's Note:**

  * For [cap iron man community](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts?recipient=cap+iron+man+community).



> For the Cap-Iron Man community gifts prompt: “AA - Steve wraps up Tony with a blanket like a burrito.”
> 
> * * *

It only takes a few seconds to wrap Tony up in the blanket and set him back on the couch, limbs pinioned to his sides. His phone is even still ringing.

Steve sits on the edge of the couch too, just to make sure Tony doesn’t roll himself off when he starts trying to thrash around.

“Cap, what—” Tony struggles against the pull of the blanket, apparently not realizing that he’s mostly held in place by his own body weight.

“You’re not going anywhere, Avenger,” Steve tells him. He picks up the phone and dismisses the call. Pepper will forgive him, he’s sure.

“It’s just a cold,” Tony protests. It sounds whinier than usual with his nose stuffed up. “I have work to do, for the company and the team and--”

“The only work you’re going to be doing tonight is healing,” Steve informs him. “And I’m going to stay here and make sure you do it.”

Tony stills. He squints suspiciously at Steve.

“You’re staying,” he says, voice flat.

“That’s what I said.”

“Don’t you have that monthly VA meeting tonight?”

“They’ll be fine without me.”

“If you’re sure. I mean, I think some of those guys _really_ look forward to seeing you there. You know, you really shouldn’t disappoint senior citizens like that--”

“So you better stay on that couch and drink you soup so as not to disappoint _this_ senior citizen, hadn’t you?”

Steve watches Tony struggle against the blanket some more. Watches him settle into the kind of petulant scowling only Tony Stark can manage.

“You know I can’t eat like this, right?”

“Yes. I’ve _also_ noticed that you’re continuing to dodge my point.”

Tony slumps. He lets his head fall back against the pillows. A faint expression of surprise crosses his face. Maybe he hadn’t expected pillows, in which case Steve hopes he’s kinder to his neck when he’s feeling less dramatic.

“You have a fever, Tony,” he says. “Soup. Rest. Tylenol. Lots of fluids.”

“Fiiiiine,” Tony draws the word out. “Fine. I’ll eat the soup. Can I get out of this giant Chinese handcuff you made now?”

Steve stifles a grin. “I don’t know, can you?” he asks, but he’s already pulling at the edges and standing to give Tony room to untangle himself. 

As soon as Tony’s hands are free, Steve puts a mug of soup in them.

“It’s cold,” Tony complains.

“It would’ve been warm if you’d eaten it earlier,” Steve reminds him. He politely ignores the comments Tony mutters under his breath. Watches him take another sip and scowl.

Steve sighs.

“If I go warm it up, do you promise to stay _here_ , on this couch, in this room?” It pays to be specific, with Tony.

“Yes, yes, I promise. I will be here, in this room, on this couch when you come back.”

Steve takes the mug back with a wary examination of Tony’s face, but he goes to warm it up. When he returns he’s not surprised to find Tony on his phone, texting industriously.

He holds out the soup again.

“What did I say about work?” he asks.

“This is important,” Tony tells him. He doesn’t even look up.

“Your _health_ is important, Tony. If you keep working when you’re ill you’ll only stress yourself more.” He holds out his other hand for the phone. “Trade me.”

Tony looks like he’s going to protest, but a round of coughing hits him and he has to turn aside for a tissue. When it’s over he shoves the phone into Steve’s free hand and takes the soup.

“I hate being sick,” he grumbles.

“Everyone hates being sick.” Steve sits down again and sets the phone on the far side of the coffee table. “Taking a rest when you need it is how you make sure you get better faster.”

He picks up his book and finds the right page. Tony tends to actually get more done if he doesn’t feel like he has an active audience.

“ _You_ don’t get sick. I’m pretty sure it’s impossible for super soldiers to get colds, or the flu or whatever this is.”

“I was sick a lot when I was younger, Tony.”

Silence. A sound of shifting blankets. When Steve looks over, Tony’s looking chagrined.

“Sorry,” he says.

“I wasn’t offended.”

“Still.”

“Tell you what,” Steve smiles at him. “Finish your soup and drink that glass of water and I’ll forget it ever happened.”

“I’m going to go insane like this,” Tony complains. “Just soup and fluids and my brain feeling all foggy.”

“We can put on a movie if you want,” Steve offers. The TV is right there, after all. And a distraction might keep Tony from complaining every few seconds.

“Star Trek?” Tony asks. Then he looks at his mug, like maybe he didn’t mean to say that so fast. “I mean, I know there’s some you still haven’t seen, and it really was at the forefront of a lot of social--”

“We can watch Star Trek, Tony,” Steve assures him. And they do. Tony finishes his soup and drinks his water to a background of James Kirk and Leonard McCoy and Spock and the rest of the crew. When Steve’s timer goes off he takes another Tylenol. Somewhere between the changing episodes and trips to the kitchen or the bathroom, they shift closer together. Steve sits on the floor next to the couch and puts his arm up on the cushions. Tony takes his hand with none of the self-consciousness he usually displays.

By the time eight in the evening rolls around, Tony’s snuggled back under the blanket, hugging Steve’s arm to his chest and falling asleep where he lies.

Steve watches his eyelids droop, then close, and waits until his breathing evens out before he turns off the TV. He presses a kiss to Tony’s forehead, light as he can, and disentangles himself. Tony shifts and sighs something that might be his name.

Steve smiles, and smooths Tony’s hair out of face. He makes sure there’s a bottle of water nearby, and a box of tissues, and turns out the last of the lights.

“Good night, Tony,” he whispers. “Sleep well.”


End file.
